As easy as ABC
by DuckieKinz
Summary: Series of one-shots involving Holmes, Watson and the many others that make up their world. Mainly humour.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:First Elementary fic ever and I am a wee bit afraid that the characters aren't in keeping with what I've seen but I'm hoping to have done an okay enough job with it.**

* * *

_Apprehensive- __anxious or fearful that something bad or unpleasant will happen._

Watson was angry at him. He couldn't really understand why but she was very, very angry. It could have been because he stole the last of her almond milk or maybe because he'd waken her up at four in the morning to go over files from a cold case he'd suddenly had revelations about. It could also be because he had gone through her phone and just happened to message people as her (again). The reasons were plentiful.

But she hadn't seemed angry when he'd actually done any of those things, just exasperated and a little resigned. Annoyed but not angry.

Even now she wasn't really acting angry per say. He could read it in her body language but she wasn't showing it outright, she wasn't glaring at him, yelling at him or threatening him. She had even smiled at him when he'd predicted the result of the last baseball game she'd watched although it was less a smile and more a baring of teeth. She hadn't huffed and puffed like she usually did.

This trepidation as he waited for her to explode was killing him. He knew and yet he didn't know. Moriarty had been right, women were harder to read, this woman only more so.

It made him think of all those things about her that he didn't really understand, like why she hadn't unpacked her things to the brownstone, especially when she'd been so vocal about screwing what his father thought and staying in New York. She considered this to be her home, that much was certain, yet she still felt the need to maintain a separate space of her own, why?

Was she still not sure then? With every passing day that she remained angry and he didn't know why he got more and more addled, more questions coming to mind. Why hadn't she moved in completely, how were they friends when she'd never even laughed around him, what on earth made her think sleeping with Mycroft was a good idea and so on and so forth.

In the end there was an explosion but not one from her.

It was early morning and they were at the table, she was reading and he was setting up an experiment involving lipstick, a blanket, car batteries and salt water taffy. After the fifteenth time she had done nothing but sighed, barely taking her eyes off the page, the same page she'd been on for the past half an hour, he couldn't take it anymore and the resulting outburst was nothing short of spectacular.

"Watson if you're angry with me I'd much rather you confront me instead of playing games."

"Me? Angry?" She sounded confused and utterly innocent. Watson never sounded innocent.

"Any time I make any noise you clench your fists, the vein in your neck becomes prominent and you stomp when you walk. You reek of anger."

"But why would I possibly be angry with you?" The coy tone was grating on him and he begins rambling then, listing every incident that might have led to their current circumstances. It took a surprising amount of time.

"I still don't see why I would be angry with you."

"You-," He stopped suddenly noticing the amusement in her eyes, the slight quirk of her eyebrow and the tilt in her mouth. "You're playing with me."

"I was simply conducting an experiment." She said leaning back in the chair putting her book down and crossing her hands behind her head, entirely at ease.

"An experiment?"

"Well you made me read that book about body language didn't you? I was simply checking its accuracy."

"You sent mixed signals."

"And you picked up on anger above everything else, I wonder why?"

He twiddled his hands whilst making a face that makes him look a lot like Clyde. "You _are_ prone to being crabby."

"Or perhaps you go out of your way to annoy me and expect this reaction."

She was becoming too much like him, he realised, and that would have to be rectified. Maybe he would wake her up at two in the morning this time.

* * *

_Brother-__ A male having the same parents as another or one parent in common with another_

"Mycroft?"

"Joan, what a pleasure to hear from you, was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?"

Mycroft really was quite pleased to hear from Joan. Admittedly his plans of getting Sherlock back in London hadn't worked out too well but he still held high hopes that he would be able to arrange something. And if he could sway Ms Watson over to his side it would only be easier for him then.

"Well there was something I wanted to discuss with you, it was about what you told Sherlock before leaving, about what his father,well _your_ father too I suppose, wanted him to do. Move back to London and go back to working with Scotland Yard and living in 221B?"

"Yes I remember that. I did give Father Sherlock's answer and-"

"Well you see I thought it was...odd of Sherlock's father to invest so much in his recovery and then promptly take him away from his entire support system, especially when he's only been out of rehab for a year. I had informed him that while my stint as a sober companion was to help Sherlock make the transition to normal life there would be triggers all around him once he was out of rehab and that it would be quite some time before he would be really okay and capable of staying sober without it being an actual challenge." She said in that soft but direct way of speaking she employed.

"I realise that it's an ongoing process but Father-"

"So I emailed him informing him that pressurising Sherlock to go to London by dangling the threat of eviction was really not the best way to go with an addict who has only just gotten their life on track. Imagine my surprise when I received an email an hour ago from your father saying that no such threat had been issued and if anything he would much rather Sherlock stay in New York." In the matter of seconds she had gone from gentle to ice-cold.

"-Oh." He had been found out. "I can-"

"Explain? I'm sure you can but I'm not interested in that. I told you how to make Sherlock your friend but there are certain kinds of friends that he doesn't need to have, the kind that plot and plan behind his back, does that sound familiar?"

"Ms Watson I was only-"

"I don't care what you were doing but I do care that you are planning things to force his hand and just so you know if you force his you also force mine...So consider this a warning Mycroft, if you do anything that might undermine Sherlock and the decisions he should be able to make himself without people forcing his hand, if you try to be anything other than his brother to him I shall tell him of everything that I have just found out and that is not going to end well for you. We've already seen how little he cares about his father and I do not think you would want the same fate for you."

"I underestimated you Ms Watson." There was resignation in his tone. Sherlock was right he really was far too lazy and setting up such an elaborate lie had just been _such_ an effort.

"And you Mycroft have dropped radically in my esteem. Good day although I suppose it is night there isn't it?"

"Yes quite."

Without another word the call was cut. Mycroft looked out the window of his own apartment this time, not 221B. Ms Watson had put quite a spanner in his plans.

"Bollocks."

* * *

_Corpse-__ a dead body, especially of a human being rather than an animal._

They were in the middle of a case and files were strewed all around. Sherlock had made a comment about a possible necrophiliac conducting the murders and a few seconds later Watson had burst out and all but yelled.

"I need to get laid!"

"I wholeheartedly agree but what made you realise that Watson? I was under the impression you were not as...shall we say 'sexually free' in your ways to truly appreciate the merits of good sex."

Watson on her part was embarrassed and had taken to hiding her face in her hands and muttering under her breath. Even Sherlock's sensitive hearing wasn't a match for her low words.

"I could help you know." The minute he'd said the word she'd looked up with an expression somewhere in between scepticism and fear. Surely he didn't mean... "I'm sure one of my friends can find a similar friend for you."

"Thanks for the offer Sherlock but I'm afraid having to resort to one of your hooker friends finding me a gigolo might me a bit too much for my ego."

"I thought as much." He said with a birdlike bob of his head and went back to the files and she sighed in relief and resumed perusing the case files as well. "But you haven't told me what brought along this epiphany." She sighed and put the file down next to her and looked at his expectant eyes.

"You don't want to know."

"On the contrary Watson if I didn't want to know, I wouldn't have asked."

"I was just thinking that a dead person is getting more action than I am. That's all."

"Not to worry Watson, to most of the population you are bound to be more attractive than a corpse."

"That is not helping in the least. Look, can we just get back to the case."

"Right, first the case, then Watson's sexless life." A loud thunk as Watson's head met the table was his only answer.


	2. Chapter 2

_Date:__ a social or romantic appointment or engagement._

It was two months after their one year of cohabitation anniversary (she was keeping count) that Joan Watson realised she wasn't interested in dating. It was only when she thought upon it further that she really grasped that she hadn't been interested in dating for quite a while now, to the point where she was so uncaring towards it that she hadn't even noticed her growing indifference to it. It was harder now more than ever to relate to people. It was easy enough to excuse her friends because she'd known them long enough to have an interest in their lives but strangers just could not keep her attention for longer than a few minutes. And those minutes were long enough for her to deduce everything she might dislike in a person and she rejected them then, easily.

When she was a surgeon it had been easy to meet people. She had been happy if overworked and her many and varied interest made it easy for her to be glib and charming to everyone. Her social life had been incredibly active as was her work life. She had never been as tired or as outgoing as she had then.

When she became a sober companion it was harder. Sherlock was right, she didn't like her job. It was fulfilling but the fact that she'd been through it before and seen so many people fall off the wagon made her wonder if her presence made any difference at all and her unhappiness showed when she went on dates and had nothing to talk about because everything she experienced was so closely related to a client who was protected by a client companion privilege.

But now, as an apprentice to a consulting detective, things were even harder. She was happy again, if she was honest she was even happier than back when she was a surgeon with her life on track, but it was not the kind of happiness that could be shared. People simply did not share her enthusiasm for all the things that she was learning, how to read people, how to read the signs in the world, how to pick a lock, how to make split second judgements that were entirely accurate. They did not care for that kind of talk at all. And she had gotten to an age where she did not like the thought of forcing herself to appear brighter just to appease a stranger.

But she really, _really_ didn't want to die alone.

So here she was, forcing herself to go on a date. The man she was about to meet had winked at her thrice and shown a great deal of promise. He was the stereotypical tall dark and handsome but with a sense of sheepishness around him that was not faked, she could tell. And in the first fifteen minutes of their meeting she had detected no lies whatsoever which made it easy for her to laugh and smile at all his jokes no matter how cliché and incorrect they may be.

She was so BORED.

Joan was well aware of the fact that she sounded a lot like Sherlock but hey at least she wasn't listening in on various police scanners to see if a body had dropped somewhere right? Damn, now she was just wondering if she could download that app that allowed you to listen in on scanners.

So she sat there and suppressed a sigh as her date (what was his name again?) told a story about how someone in his office stole his stapler. Ridiculous really, it was obviously the guy with the corner cubicle who had a crush on his secretary.

"Watson there you are!" And all of a sudden there was Sherlock, leaning over the rail looking in on their dinner like a jack in the box that had been suddenly released. It took a lot of effort to not burst out into a rude, yet heartfelt 'Oh Thank God you're here!'.

"Watson we need to go, I've made a startling discovery about the murderer!" He said excitedly. Sometimes she wondered if his hair stood up like that because of all that energy he oozed.

"Joan, do you know this man?" Her date (Kevin? No. Kyle? Not that either...Ah yes, Keenan!) asked while Sherlock looked between the two of them and blinked.

"Yes, Sherlock this is Keenan, my date, Keenan this is Sherlock my..." She was confused as to how to introduce Sherlock. He was her boss, sure but he was also her partner and he was also her best friend and her mentor and her housemate. Those were a lot of titles for one person to hold.

"I'm her BFBF/HM." Sherlock said and stepped over the railing and borrowed a chair from the table next to them sitting down at their table.

"BFBF/HM?" Keenan asked, confused. She wondered what that meant too although she had a pretty good idea."

"Best friend boss forever slash house mate." Sherlock was succinct and utterly unapologetic about intruding on their date.

She just wished _she_ wasn't as unapologetic about it as well.

He turned to her practically vibrating in his seat. "The murderer is the victim's assistant."

"Rebecca? But why-"

"She's also her illegitimate daughter. When Ms Brimson, that's the victim," he added for Keenan's benefit. It was when Watson realised something was wrong in this picture Sherlock rarely did anything for someone else's benefit, "found out that she couldn't have children because of the ovarian cancer she found her daughter and brought her here under the guise of a job opportunity. Rebecca however, was not happy to find out that she had dumped her in the foster care system where she faced a great amount of problems, all because her mother didn't want to have to put her career on hold. She's already confessed."

"Oh, I missed that." She loved watching Sherlock get confessions out of people because it meant they had enough to put the murderer away.

"Not to worry Watson, that's why you're my apprentice, to learn."

"Well you're learning too, I was the one who noticed the insulin pump."

"You just hastened the process Watson, I would have gotten there eventually."

"Well in the organ trafficking murders, I was the one who noticed the surgical precision of the wounds."

"I wouldn't brag too much about that if I were you, organs are a hot commodity in the transplant market, it was bound to involve some medical professionals after all. You know Watson if I were you I would be very glad to be out of the medical business, we've met a lot of doctors turned murderers."

"No we haven- Ohh, wow we really have." Even in their very first case together the murderer was a doctor. She began going over all the cases in her head then and found herself, frankly alarmed by the number of killers who were in the medical business.

Keenan who had been completely forgotten at this point suddenly chimed in. "Wow, I knew you were a consulting detective, I just didn't figure you'd be working on murders."

It was Sherlock who answered for her. "We mainly consult on murder cases actually. Our last case involved a serial killer who hacked up the body of the victim and left them to dissolve in acid."

Keenan took on a very green colour.

"And Watson here has been kind enough to take on some of the cold cases that I wasn't able to solve, you know fresh eyes can be invaluable to such work."

Sherlock was being uncharacteristically talkative. He usually was but his talk usually involved deducing a person and pissing them off in the process. Usually the only people on the other side of his informative rants were Watson, Angus and Clyde.

So what exactly was going on?

"-and then she stuffed the body in his own house, behind the wall in his living room." While she had been pondering Sherlock's behaviour he had been enlightening Keenan who looked significantly more green now.

"Umm Joan it was nice to meet you but maybe we coul-" Keenan stopped to suppress what appeared to be an intense bout of vomiting. He swallowed and slowly calmed himself before speaking again. "Maybe we could reschedule, I'm not feeling too well. I'll call you." He said before rushing out of the restaurant and just as he cleared the door their food finally arrived.

"Excellent, I could go for some grub right now."

"What was that?" She asked, still fairly bewildered. Everything had just happened so fast and her neurons did not fire at the same speed as Sherlock's yet.

"What was what?" He said through a stuffed mouth. She would have been disgusted had she not been glad it was a small bite rather than a giant mouthful of cereal and milk.

"You were acting weird, did you go out of your way to gross him out so he would leave?!"

He looked up from his plate then and looked at her like she was stupid. "Of course I did."

"Sherlock!"

"Watson you clearly didn't want to be here. Even _Bell_ would have noticed it."

"Bell? Not even Gregson? I must have made it really obvious." She said sarcastically before tucking into her own plate of salmon, certain it had been some small tell that had Sherlock reading her emotional state so accurately.

"You pushed your chair back and leaned on the armrest on my side as if getting ready to leave. I must confess I've never seen anyone look that happy to see me." Ouch. So she hadn't controlled her reaction as much as she thought she did. "Why did you even bother going on this date? The man was clearly an utter dunce."

She sighed before telling him the truth. He would have figured it out any way. "I'm afraid of dying alone."

He gave her a curious look. "Everyone dies alone. The only way you don't die alone is if you make a suicide pact with someone, but I gather that's not what you're implying."

"No."

"Well I wouldn't worry much about it any way."

"Why?"

"Clyde can live up to the age of eighty if raised well."

She snorted in laughter at that.

"Besides," He said, a certain gravity in his voice, "I'm not going anywhere."


	3. Chapter 3

_Embrace-__hold (someone) closely in one's arms, especially as a sign of affection._

Watson was going to be away for a full two weeks, away attending on a favour for a friend in LA who had asked for her presence during a difficult surgical procedure and he had declined her invitation to join her. He could make do with New York because of how like London it was but Los Angeles?! Never.

"You've got the number of the friend I'm staying with? You can call me anytime, if I don't pick up then I'll call back."

"Yes."

"And you'll make sure you attend the meeting even though I won't be there?"

"Yes."

"And promise you'll get some sleep at least, no staying up for a whole week straight just because I'm not here to stop you."

"Yes, yes I promise." He rolled his eyes.

"And go grocery shopping in a couple of days and eat something, don't just wait until you feel faint-"

"Yes **mom** I got it, now will you please leave! I'm not completely unable to take care of myself, you know."

"No, you're just _partially_ unable to take care of yourself." She quipped and he threatened to drop the suitcase he was hauling on her toes in retort.

The taxi driver looked at the two standing on the stoop with amusement. He gave her a few more minutes of fussing before calling out. "Miss, if we don't hurry you'll be late for your flight."

Watson grew flustered and rushed through all the instructions she could manage while putting her bag in the trunk before stopping in front of Sherlock. She pulled him into a quick hug and kissed him on the cheek, absentmindedly patting him on the back.

"Don't give Detective Gregson and Bell too much trouble and remember to change Clyde's waterbox." She couldn't stop herself from saying as she slid into the taxi and before he could reply the car took off. "Bye!"

He watched as the car grew smaller until it turned a corner and went out of sight and went back up the stairs again rubbing his cheek furiously.

She hadn't even noticed what she'd done, so frazzled had she been in her hurry. It had been the same last time with their trip to London she had been horribly stressed the whole time fussing about documents and passports and then about luggage size and then about something else that he couldn't quite remember. It had been so bad in fact that Sherlock hadn't had any time to be nervous about flying or even question the state of mind of the pilot or the many others involved in the flight process, he was far too busy tuning Watson out, failing to do so and then trying to ignore the knowing looks thrown at him by all the old couples in the airport.

But this instance had made it obvious how domestic the two of them were. She hadn't thought twice before throwing her arms around him and that kiss, what were they, French?!

A few streets away Joan was apologising profusely to the taxi driver.

"I am so sorry to keep you waiting like that!"

"It's alright, the meter was running so I was going to get paid anyway." He said with a grin that was returned. "First time going away from your husband?"

"Oh he's not my-"

"Boyfriend then." He nodded. "My daughter has the same problem, her man just doesn't want to marry, what's the use of a piece of paper he says and she winds up at our place crying to her mom."

"Oh no Sherlock and I are just friends. And work partners. Who happen to live together." She didn't know why she was explaining herself to him but far too many people confused Sherlock and her for a couple. The few who actually knew them were well aware of their unique relationship but random strangers on the street looked at them and assumed they were together. She'd preferred it when they'd come across a board member from the investment firm who'd hired them and they'd remembered her as his bodyguard.

"Right, do you kiss all your work partners like that?" The taxi driver said with a twinkle in his eye and inside her brain there were explosions.

Because Sherlock was entirely right in that she hadn't noticed herself do that. But now she was aware, she was hyperaware of the fact that she had, in lieu of a goodbye, planted one on Sherlock and _cuddled_. This was Sherlock, who disliked body contact that involved emotions, to do that to him practically counted as harassment!

She leaned back in her seat and muttered a single expletive. She could only hope there was a nice murder or two to distract him.

* * *

_Fashion-__a popular or the latest style of clothing, hair, decoration, or behaviour._

"Sherlock I have a lesson for you!" Watson said excitedly, her face flushed, presumably from helping the delivery man drag the heavy chair that had been delivered to their brownstone all the way to the Wall of TVs. Their sounds had been most distracting and were it not for the fact that Clyde was sleeping next to him he would have yelled at the pair to keep it down.

"I didn't realise you had anything to teach me Watson." He said impudently, never taking his eyes off the crime scene photos tacked up in front of him. She had taken far too long in her task and he had resorted to talking out loud to Angus instead of her and had found that it just wasn't the same. His deductive juices weren't flowing with as much rigour as they did with her.

"Come on, we aren't getting anywhere, a little break will do you good, you need a clean slate."

"Fine but I do so under great duress." He said dramatically and stomped, his bathrobe acting as a cape, fluttering behind him.

"Voila!" Watson said brightly gesturing at the medieval torture chair that was currently facing the TVs. It was a fascinating thing, metal clamps preparing to hold the head, arms, wrists and feet of a person rigidly. He had seen plenty of the kind of course but this was lacking in the wheel at the top that allowed to squeeze the person's head painfully. It was more of a restraining chair than a torture one really although it would allow the captors to do whatever they wished to the captive.

He was not all too impressed with Watson's surprise. Unless she was going to take out thumbscrews it was rather anti-climatic and frankly, unimaginative. Then again this was Watson and she wasn't really the creative type.

"That's...nice." He was trying to be nice about it but it was really quite dull. Watson was really quite lucky she was extraordinary.

"Sit down." She said excitedly. He'd never seen her this happy, not even when she'd solved the case of the subway pusher, her first solo case, had she been this excited. So he indulged her and did exactly that, he sat down in the chair and relaxed completely even as she began strapping him down. Once he was appropriately confined she walked in front of him and leaned forward. His mind raced, this was exactly like the beginning of a porno he'd watched once. But she was missing the whip and leather costume. Pity, that.

"You train your mind by watching many things at once, right?"

"You already know the answer to that."

She narrowed her eyes at him before bursting into a slow smile. It was a wicked, evil smile. Moriarty would have been jealous.

"Excellent, you can sit here absorbing this." She turned and switched on all the TV's to multiple episodes of a particular show.

"Oh God no!" Sherlock said in horror and tried to get out of his seat to no avail as the metal clamps held strong. When all else failed he calmed himself and began his usual procedure to hypnotize himself to tune it all out only to be shocked back into reality when Watson drove a pin into his thigh, just like she'd promised to do at a meeting months ago. "Ow!"

"You will watch all the episodes of Tim Gunn's Guide to Style and will never dress me like a lumberjack again. If you're going to wake me up in the early morning hours and pick out my clothes you are going to do it _right_."

Were Watson someone else she would probably have cackled, instead she just smiled that smug, smug smile. The same smirk on their first case when she'd figured out the events in London involved a woman. The same smirk when they'd arrested Moriarty. The same smirk when they'd put the Subway pusher behind bars.

_("Really Watson, the red bra? Admittedly it is lovely if it was meant to be seen but it doesn't really give you the amount of lift you need with that dress." She glared but he barrelled on, pointing out details of the styling where she'd gone wrong. "I'll have to take away your choice of undergarments at this rate." ) _


End file.
